


Escaping The Cage

by ThePlotNinja



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, Domination, Dubious Consent, F/M, Maledom, Original Character(s), Power Imbalance, S.H.I.E.L.D., Slowburner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlotNinja/pseuds/ThePlotNinja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica, a young woman fresh out of high school, finds herself at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters facing an uncertain future, when an encounter with a dangerous villain puts her in mortal danger. She may be his key to freedom - but what is he to her?</p><p>WARNING: Dub-con, Force, Triggers possible. Only read this if you enjoy that twisty, caged-in feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Curiosity Kills The Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there :)
> 
> With a plotty first two chapters, this may be a little bit of a slow burner, but will there be smut? You bet! Don't hate the self-insert writer... Unless it's awful writing... I hope you don't find this awful.  
> Since I'm not American, I apologise (or rather, apologize) for certain spellings that I might have missed. Hopefully I'll get a chance to go back and fix them. But not now.
> 
> Please enjoy, and let me know if you do!
> 
> -The Plot Ninja

She shouldn’t have been here. Just 18 years old, fresh out of high school, she should have had her whole life ahead of her. And now?

She’d probably be spending a lot of time around bars, and not the type her classmates snuck into on buzzing Friday nights.

‘For God’s sake, she doesn’t need handcuffs!’ Erica heard her older brother exclaim to the armed man roughly pushing her out the door. ‘She’s a kid! She doesn’t even know what she did wrong!’

Brandon meant well, but that wasn’t true. Her crime was that she’d poked, she’d pried. Curiosity was like motorcycles in the night: usually cats could avoid them easily enough, but the occasional accident squished them flat. Even shy, wary tabbies like her.

 

 

Unlike her sweet, naive parents, she hadn’t believed Brandon when he broke the news that he’d found a computer programming job in New York City, for more than one reason.

He’d always hated New York.

Also, he hadn’t been in the business long enough to afford Armani suits.

Also, computer programming wasn’t usually conducive to gaining huge bulks of muscle in a short span of time.

Also, she’d seen a glimpse of his gun.

Her parents had been thrilled for him. They were also thrilled that his new job let him come back home for a week to “house-sit” (babysit) while they jetted off on a Hawaiian holiday.

‘I am old enough to stay home alone,’ Erica had grumbled as the pair watched the plane take off. Her brother had just laughed, grabbing her in a headlock/bear hug, and she’d let it go; night-time alone in the old, creaky house would have been creepy, anyway.

Two days had passed before she had cracked. ‘So what do you actually do?’

Brandon’s beer basically gushed out of his nose. ‘Shit,’ he spluttered,  mopping up his t-shirt with a handful of tissues. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, what do you do?’ she repeated at half-speed.

‘You mean, my job title?’ Brandon paused. ‘I suppose you’d call me a Software Engineer Contractor-’

‘Bull. Shit.’

He took a swig of beer. ‘Hey, now. Just because I’m old and crude doesn’t mean I want to hear cussing coming from my little sister.’

 ‘You’re the one who taught me it.’

‘Touché.’ He turned back to the TV.

Erica crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. ‘So. A Software Engineer?’

‘Cooo-rrect.’

‘In a firm in New York.’

‘Mm hmm.’

‘Then what’s this?’

‘What’s...’ He flicked his eyes towards her for a second, then again, and then he nigh-on tackled her. ‘Give that back! How’d you get that?’

Within ten seconds he’d disarmed her and dismantled the firearm. ‘Never. Touch. This. Again. Do you understand me? We’re not on the range – what if it had gone off!’

Erica gave him a withering look. ‘You know I can handle guns. Besides, missing the point, much? Is it really such a dangerous job, writing code in an office building, that you need a loaded gun in your holster?’

Brandon had masses of responses to this, Erica could see it in the way he loomed over her, so keen to give her a piece of his mind – and then he huffed, a sigh of furious exasperation. ‘Just – never again, you hear me?’ he uttered weakly. He stormed off, snatching up his beer as he went. On the screen, a touchdown went to the other team.

A distant door slam made her shake her head. Twenty-four, and just as much of a child as ever. She didn’t bring up the gun again.

 

 

She did, however, snoop. Looking back, she could have justified it to herself as concern for her brother – was he involved in criminal activity? Was it drugs? But honestly, at the time the only thing she felt was the urge to _know_.

He had locked his door when he went out to visit his friends, but she had opened it with ten seconds and a credit card. Old posters with football teams, car models and near-nude models on cars still hung from the walls, and she spotted the well-loved Stripey the Bear hidden in a corner. There were at least three computers’ worth of technological jumble strewn across his desk. Erica felt every bit the intruder that she was.

But then she saw the briefcase of files, not quite closed over the bulk of the paper, and her guilt was replaced with the thrill of success. One glance told her they were definitely not the notes of a computer programmer.

Headed with code-names like “Eagle”, “Redwood Run” and “MT-2”, the files had maps, blueprints, sheets of information with black-and-white close-ups of faces. So this was it? Erica thought, thumbing through the papers. Her brother was an undercover cop. That had to be it. She came to a map marked with a post-it:

_2790 Longturn Parade, 57881._

Obviously she wasn’t going to get anything googling “Operation Eagle”. But an address, though – that was just specific enough to be possible. She pulled out her phone, tapped in the address, and hit enter.

It came up with a long, gravel road winding alongside the waterline of an inlet. “ _2790 Longturn Parade, 57781_ ”. Nothing like the map. Nothing like what she had expected, either. But then, the unexpected should probably be expected of secret locations. She moved on.

And then the Men In Black, or rather their real-world equivalent, arrived. Kicked in the door, held her at gunpoint where she sat amongst the papers, read a variation of her rights that she’d never heard before and likely wasn’t standard, and lead her out the door her brother had just arrived at.

 

 

So here she was, on a steel chair behind a steel chair, in a steel room with a large window, watching her brother argue with a straight-faced man in a suit. There was plenty of motioning towards her on her brother’s part, plenty of apathetical eyebrow-raises by the agent.

 _At least there’s no bars,_ part of Erica’s brain supplied.

 _Oh, shut up,_ the sensible part snapped back. _This is not the time._

Eventually, the older man motioned to the window and disappeared from her view, reappearing through the door, which he closed behind him with a click. ‘Miss Challand.’

‘Hi,’ Erica replied uncertainly.

His smart black shoes echoed as he strode to take a seat opposite her. ‘I’m Agent Coulson. I wonder, Miss Challand – do you know why you’re here?’

Erica took a couple of deep breaths. ‘To fill in a job application?’ she joked weakly.

Behind the agent, she could see Brandon making “No more” signals. She quickly looked down at the table. ‘Sorry.’

In her peripheral vision, she thought she saw an upwards quirk of the agent’s lips. ‘No matter. Unfortunately, it has come to our attention that you gained access to top secret information. Not –’ he interrupted her attempt at a denial – ‘through any fault of your own, we know.’

Something near relief almost washed over her, before she understood his implications. ‘Don’t blame my brother! I was the one sneaking into his stuff-’

‘By taking files offsite, no matter how innocent his intentions, your brother breached protocol. We’re not firing him, don’t worry, but he’s on temporary probation.’

So she hadn’t cost her brother his job. That was something, anyway.

‘So it’s all okay? If I sign a confidentiality form or whatever, I can go home?’

Agent Coulson rubbed his forehead quickly. ‘Not... Not quite.’ He took a breath. ‘We’ll need to detain you until the missions have been wrapped up.’

Erica didn’t need any lip-reading skills to see the expletives her brother was spitting. ‘The safety of the agents is top priority,’ Coulson continued, a tone of pity in his voice she didn’t like.

‘And how long will that be?’ she asked without taking his eyes off of her brother.

‘Three years.’

‘WHAT?!’ both Challand siblings shrieked simultaneously, Brandon’s fists on the glass almost audible inside the sound-proof room despite Erica’s own fists slamming onto the steel table. Moments later, he was rattling at the door, and then through the window Erica saw two burly men dragging her enraged brother away. Coulson made a signal, and the window blackened into one-way glass, replacing the image of Brandon with her own reflection.

‘I demand a lawyer,’ Erica said softly; then louder, ‘I _demand_ a lawyer!’

‘We’re above the level of secrecy where lawyers are a right,’ the agent told her sadly. ‘I’m afraid there are no other options.’

 

 

And then came the bars.

Her subconscious at least had the decency to sound apologetic. _I may have spoken too soon._


	2. The God behind the Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whereupon the girl meets the god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people :)
> 
> Please review, let me know what's working, what's not, or what I should go eat for lunch. Basically, comment anything - getting comments is like getting big, warm cuddles around my ego :)
> 
> Many internet hearts to you!  
> -The Plot Ninja

The door slid open. From her bunk, Erica could hear the _clip, clip, clip_ of those polished shoes across concrete, accompanied by a prison guard’s heavy, thumping boots. She wiped away her tear tracks frantically at the sound of a key turning in a lock.

‘Miss Challand, if you’d accompany me, please?’

Erica cleared her throat, but just nodded. She could feel how gravelly her voice would be if she spoke.

Eyes downcast, she spent their short journey willing away the puffiness of her eyes, so she didn’t get to read the sign on the door when they entered.

It was a gun range.

The young woman almost started hyperventilating. Were they going to have her shot now? She looked back frantically towards the open door.

‘Hey, hey now.’ Agent Coulson’s voice was softer, kinder than she’d heard it before. ‘Don’t get worked up. We’ve got a proposal for you, will you hear me out?’

Looking up, she saw three other agents, two men and a woman, in the room with them. Now she was confused.

‘Your brother has spent the last hour trying to convince us that detaining you would be a waste of your talents. Says you’re quite the shot.’

Erica didn’t know how to respond. The last statement was true enough, so she just shrugged her shoulders.

Coulson coughed awkwardly at her silence. ‘Well, we’re suggesting an... an internship, of sorts. Our Agent Challand was convinced you’d be joining our ranks sooner or later anyway.’

Was he? Erica remembered telling her brother about wanting to be a police officer, when she was ten or eleven. But then, she’d also told him she wanted to be a wizard astronaut rock-star.

Motioning to a shooting cubical, the female agent suggested, ‘Why don’t you show us what you can do?’

So it was down to this? Your choice, they were saying: shoot well enough to join us, or rot in your cell for the next three years. She took a deep breath in. Better hit them targets, girly.

‘Alright.’ Yep, her voice was still gravelly, with added fright-related rockiness. Erica wondered exactly how pathetic she looked – blotchy red cheeks? Probably.

She put on the goggles and ear muffs, then weighed the weapon in her hands. Too bad her hands were shaking like a 5.4 Richter scale epicentre right now.

A backwards look to Coulson. ‘Go on,’ he mouthed.

She had to do this. Had to. Had to.

_Bang!_

Miss.

She swore; whether aloud or in her head, she wasn’t sure. This was a hell of a time to get stage fright.

‘It’s okay!’ yelled the female agent behind her, muted through the ear muffs. ‘Go again!’

_Bang!_

Miss.

_Bang!_

Miss.

_Bang-bang!_

Well, it hit the paper...

_Bang!_

Miss.

‘I can’t do this!’ Erica burst out. She stripped off the equipment, her eyes darting from one agent to another, feeling their judgement. ‘I... I can’t!’

‘Wait!’

Too late – the girl had fled the room. The corridors were narrow and winding, and she knew as she ran that she should have kept track of her left and right turns, but right now she just wanted to get as lost as she felt. She sprinted until her heart pounded her ears, until her vision was blurred with her tears.

 

 

Finally, she slumped down in a small alcove. There were cameras here, pointing in all directions. Didn’t matter. There were cameras everywhere in this damn place, and there would be for the next three years of her life. Would she get to see her Mom and Dad during it? Who knew! Maybe Brandon would be allowed to visit... In her cell...

‘Girl, why are you crying?’

Erica looked up with a start. The corridor seemed empty enough. But then she caught a glimpse of a gray-blue eye, staring at her from the next room.

‘I’m not!’ she denied, wiping her sleeve across her eyes quickly.

The eye narrowed humorously. ‘I’m afraid the saltwater on your garment says otherwise.’

Getting to her feet slowly, Erica rounded the corner with caution. She was met by the sight of a vaguely familiar man, standing with his feet wide apart and his hands behind his back as if he owned the glass cell he was trapped in.

‘This is where they keep you?’ she asked nervously, examining the enclosure.

‘ “Keep” me... I suppose they do, yes,’ the man responded, tilting his head. Those blue eyes pierced her, pinning her to the spot. He rocked on his heels thoughtfully, then suddenly took a step forwards. Erica’s corresponding step backwards seemed to amuse him, a smirk forming on his lips. ‘You fear me?’

‘No.’ She took a step forwards to prove it.

He huffed out a cynical laugh, taking a slow turn around his space while surveying her. ‘Then you do not know of me.’

‘You are... Loki?’ Without the dramatic get-up it was hard to tell, but surely few other prisoners would be held like this in the centre of a spy base. ‘You terrorised Stuttgart last year. I saw it on the news.’ She paused. ‘They say you’re a god.’

‘They say rightly,’ the tall being sneered. ‘But, still you do not fear me?’

‘I don’t believe in gods. Maybe you’re a trickster; maybe you’re an alien. But a god? No such thing.’

Quick as lightning, Loki pressed up against the glass, his intense blue eyes locked onto hers. ‘Oh, but you would not say so if I were free. If there were no barrier between us now, I guarantee, I would have you at my feet, _cowering_ before my power. I could pull you to pieces, little girl; I could shred your mind, bend your will to mine, and you would _thank_ me for it.’ His tongue darted out over his lips quickly, and the pitch of his voice dropped seductively. ‘I could make you moan my name. Or, I could make you scream it.’

Erica saw his eyes flick to her unconsciously clenched hand, which was turning white around a handrail, and she let go and backed away, cheeks burning under his leer.

‘Even now you see the effect I have upon you!’ he mocked.

‘You –’ She started the sentence without knowing the path it was going to take, but he interrupted her anyway.

‘Don’t deny it, it’s written on your very countenance.’ Then, with startling softness: ‘But alas, you must forgive me – it was not my wish to upset the young maiden again!’

The sudden mood swing caught Erica off-guard. ‘I’m not... ’

‘Miss Challand!’

Erica swivelled around. ‘Brandon?’

Brandon winced, and she realised too late that there must be a reason he had used their surname.

‘Well now, who is this?’ Loki pondered aloud in a wicked tone. ‘Seems quite a close acquaintance. Friend? Brother?’ He paused for emphasis. ‘Lover?’

‘Miss Challand, we have to get you out of here,’ her brother urged, taking hold of her arm. ‘Not another word, got it?’ he hissed as he guided her away.

‘He whispers to her, sweet nothings in her ear!’ Loki called after them, the chilled tone echoing wall to wall. Erica must have imagined the tone of jealousy. ‘Little does he know he will be her undoing, as she will be his!’

 

 

Finally out of earshot, Brandon held her by the shoulders. ‘What were you doing? I know there’s a lot that’s classified, but everyone’s heard about that maniac in there!’

Erica’s heart was still beating faster than a field mouse’s; putting together a coherent answer after all that had happened within the last 12 hours just wasn’t within her capabilities.

Brandon’s brows furrowed, taking in her ghost-pale face, then he wrapped his arms around her with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. Just... Thank God you’re okay, sis. This whole thing’s had me so scared for you. And it’s my fault.’

‘No. No, it’s mine. I’ve screwed up big time. You fought to get me a chance, and I blew it.’ She took in a big breath, then exhaled slowly. Making him worry wasn’t going to help. ‘But hey, I hear prison’s not so bad these days. Even has cable TV.’

‘What?’ Brandon looked shocked. ‘Oh, no way! I thought someone would have told you! ‘Ric, you’re not going to prison. _Detained_. Not arrested – they’re hardly going to throw an innocent teenager in the clink. Jesus.’ He hugged her closer. ‘No wonder you were freaking out.’

‘But then...’

‘You were just in the holding cells. There’s living quarters on site. They’d probably put you in a unit next to me. Granted, you’d have some extra security measures on yours. But no jail, I swear.’

His arm still around her, they began to walk back to the shooting range. ‘I figured, though, they’re going to treat you better if they can see what you’ve got. You could be an agent, like me!’ He puffed out his chest. ‘Not right now, of course. They’d train you up, might take a year or two. But it would give you a reason for Mom and Dad.’

‘What, that I’m interning under you as a computer software programmer?’ Erica laughed. ‘Wait – I can’t tell them the truth?’

‘Classified, sis. This is the very meaning of classified. Besides, I think they’d take it better than finding out you’d been taken by secret spy organisation, don’t you?’

He did have a point.

 

 

‘Again.’

Erica looked back at her older brother, who just threw her a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up. She felt an aura of calm descend over her - she could do this, just as she had hundreds of times before.

She drew breath; steadied her pulse; fired. _One, two, three, four, five, six_. Pausing only to readjust for the recoil, she squeezed off the rounds easily, the sound coming as muffled thuds through the headgear.

‘Incredible,’ Coulson remarked, running his finger around the edge of the retrieved paper target’s bullet-hole. ‘Six bullets through the centre, and yet it looks like two overlapping holes, maybe three at most.’

‘Five bullets went through the centre, sir,’ Brandon corrected. ‘If I may, the third went through here.’

The senior agent looked at Erica, who smiled sheepishly. ‘You’re good with a gun, I’ll give you that. But we’ve already got too many agents with no proper respect for authority.’ He wiggled his finger through the circular hole in the target where the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia used to be. ‘That’s something you’re going to have to work on.’


	3. Does Reality Even Always Matter?

Brandon’s room was small, and reasonably sparse. As at home, computer components were littered across his desk – ever the tinkerer – but the only wall decoration was a small cluster of photographs. Erica grinned as she scanned past the football team photos, and found one of herself as a six-year-old. Terror was in her little eyes as a giant Pluto the Dog tried to shake her hand, and she was huddled behind a bigger boy who was twisting around with a smile, trying to reach her. The twelve-year-old Brandon, she remembered, had picked her up with an _oof_ , and she had clung to him tightly as he explained that it was just a man, just a costume with a man inside. The man-dog was covering its eyes theatrically, as if it were sorry. She had calmed down. Did she want to go meet him now? No? Okay. It’s alright.

He had carried her around until she got too heavy, and then whenever she saw a costume that scared her, she had just caught his hand and squeezed.

There was a small kitchenette with just a sink, a bench and a jug, and Brandon started making coffee. ‘Do you want one?’

‘No thanks.’ She smiled, and sat down on his tightly-made bed. The jug was almost boiled when there was a knock at the door.

 Brandon swung it open, saluting, and Erica heard a man’s voice say, ‘Agent Challand? Room 422 has been prepared for your sister.’ He handed over a room key.

‘Oh, that was quick,’ he said, surprised. ‘Thank you.’ He saluted again as the soldier left. Snatching up his own room key, he motioned to her. ‘Let’s go.’

422 was only 4 doors down the corridor. ‘Here we go. Don’t lose your key,’ Brandon advised her. ‘It’s only five bucks to replace, but they give you a filthy look and you have to fill out like five forms about where you think you lost it.’

‘Bureaucracy in a government department. Got it.’

Erica’s room was just as minimalist as her brother’s room. Bed. Desk. Office chair. A small set of drawers. There was a small pile of bags in the corner, and she felt a pang of indignation as she recognised one of them. ‘This is my stuff! They went through my stuff?!’

‘If they’re going through the effort to keep you here, they weren’t going to let you go home to pick things up, ‘Ric,’ he reminded her gently.

‘Oh... Yeah, you’re right.’ In her position, she should probably be grateful she got any of her own things at all.

‘Do you want help setting up your room?’

‘That’s alright. Go have your coffee.’

‘Okay. Dinner’s at 7, sharp, so I’ll come back in about an hour. Bathroom’s just across the hall from you, or there’s better ones at the end – the hot water only runs in 4 minute spurts, unfortunately, so you’re going to learn to shower quick. What else... Oh, technically there’s no lights-out, but people don’t like loud noises after about 9.30, and you want to get a good night sleep – they’re early risers around here.’

He winced; she grinned. ‘They’ve managed to change the ways of Brandon Sleep-til-noon? Impressive!’

‘Hey, I don’t remember you being such a morning person either.’

She just poked her tongue out in response.

‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he chuckled, heading back to the door. ‘Oh, and probably best not to wander too much, not until you learn where you’re allowed and where you’re not, alright? I wouldn’t want you to walk into one of the chemical labs by mistake, or...’ He haltered for a second. ‘Or other dangerous places.’

 _Loki_. The thought popped unbidden to her brain, and she suppressed the shudder of anxiety she felt at the name. God or no, the psychopath had had her like a deer in the headlights, and that scared her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve learnt my lesson about poking around places I shouldn’t.’

‘Good.’ He stayed there for a moment, his mouth half open as if he wanted to say something else; but when he saw her open the top suitcase and start unpacking the first item – a (rather lacy) bra, he looked up at the roof quickly. ‘Umm – I’m going to... ahh... let you unpack now.’

And with that he fled, his sister’s snigger following him out.

 

So she wasn’t in jail. She wasn’t going to court. Erica stared at the ceiling of the dark room, lit only by the blue glow of her MP3 charger, and let the day roll over her. Only a day? It felt like a month. Maybe time moved differently in this place; she wouldn’t be at all surprised if it did.

Still four days before her parents got home. What would they say when they found out she’d cut short her summer to start work? When she told them (by phone, no doubt) that she’d changed her mind, about college, about studying Biology? Her father would be happy, possibly. ‘No money in Environmental Science,’ he had once lectured her. She had returned with a list of very well-paid environmentalists, which he had barely glanced at before dismissing; ‘Exception to the rule. I won’t stop you – if you want to be poor the rest of your life, that’s up to you.’ Her mother would probably be disappointed, though. She had been looking forward to having a scientist in the family.

Erica raised her head at a faint noise in the distance. Was that a phone?...

Then a wailing alarm went off somewhere in the corridor, and Erica scrambled out of bed. Where did she put her pants? No way was she venturing out into the unknown danger in her jammies.

She had pulled on jeans and a bra when she heard a voice behind her that made her gasp: ‘Oh, very nice indeed.’

Spinning around, she saw the god (Alien. Whatever he was) leaning casually in front of the only exit available to her. He was not attired as he had been in the glass cell, however – no, he was in the full, horned suit and armour that had been replayed over and over on T.V., making him look taller, bulkier. Powerful. She clutched the t-shirt she was holding to her chest in an attempt to cover herself, but he only laughed, a cold, calculated noise that had her backing away until she hit the wall.

‘Foolish mortal,’ he crooned, taking his time to stroll across the small room. ‘You truly thought me contained, didn’t you? Thought S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new pet cobra was safely in his tank?’

Erica’s eyes darted around, trying to find something weapon-like in the still-dark room; but with unbelievable speed, Loki was suddenly too close, so close that all she could see in her field of vision was him. She wrenched in a deep breath, then swung her fist at the smug face, at the same time bursting out a ‘HEL-’

Both her wrists were pinned above her head and a hand smothered her yell before she knew what had happened. The t-shirt dropped to the ground. She pulled, struggled against him – in no way was she weak, but he might as well have been stone. He chuckled, holding her there until she was panting, then moved his hand from her mouth to her throat. Not exerting power, exactly, but from the vice-like grip around her wrists he made it clear that he could if he wanted to.

Wide-eyed and helpless, she quietened, her breathing shallow and fast.

He leaned in to her ear. ‘Much better,’ he murmured, and she could feel his warm breath ghost over her skin. ‘See? Surrender suits you. The urge to submit runs through your veins.’ A finger found the pulse point in her neck, and he leaned in to hiss in her ear: ‘I can feel it.’

‘You should be running,’ she said, her voice uncertain even to her own ears. She manoeuvred a breath under his hand to add a bit more gusto. ‘They’ll be looking for you.’

‘I suppose I should be,’ he returned calmly, showing no intent to do so; then, with a quick flick of his hand, all the alarms fell silent. ‘Midgardian technology,’ he said with a sort of fond disdain. ‘It has grown to be as annoying as you Midgardians yourselves.’

Erica shook under a caress that ventured from her throat to her chest. ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded. ‘I beg you, let me go.’

‘Let you go, little rabbit?’ he smirked, amusement playing in those blue eyes. ‘Why would I do that?’

Then with that same inhuman speed as before he swooped in, kissing her passionately, possessively on the lips, devouring her breath, before pulling away an inch and whispering, ‘Do you not know, girl – we’ve only just begun.’

 

A _thunk_ from next door awoke her, and she bolted upright, staring wildly around the room.

No Loki.

A dream.

Her pulse still racing, she flopped back onto her pillow. _What the hell, brain? Erotic dreams about a mass-murderer?_ _Not good._

She lay still a while longer, waiting for the dream to clear from her head and listening to the waking-up sounds around her. Without a window in her room, she had to reach for her alarm clock to determine the time. The flashing, bright green numbers made her squint, but finally she could make them out.

_4:48_

_-:--_

_4:48_

-:--

_4:49_

Seriously?! _Early risers, my ass! It’s still the middle of the night – these people are owls!_

Resolving to sleep another hour or so, she replaced the clock on the floor and rolled over; but every time she closed her eyes, images from her dream crowded her mind. His hands. His eyes. His kiss.

Nope. She was awake. Cranky, but awake. She resentfully switched on the light and got dressed (different clothes than the dream), then waited for the day to properly start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If no one retrospectively gets the clue from right at the beginning that it was a dream, I'm going to be a little bit heartbroken.
> 
> -The Plot Ninja


	4. Slink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> Wow... these chapters are long. Should I split them up more? This one didn't want to be cut down the middle, anyway.  
> Please comment!  
> Hope you enjoy,
> 
> -The Plot Ninja

Breakfast in the mess hall had apparently started at 4, to accommodate those on early morning missions; it ended at 7, which meant that when Brandon lead her down at half past six, the hall was mostly empty, and many of the huge bowls of cereal had a pre-pillaged look about them. Erica scooped some of the muesli from the bottom of the bowl, happy to retrieve two yoghurt-covered raisins from the depleted supply.

‘So what’s going to happen today?’ Erica asked, sliding into a seat beside her bleary-eyed brother.

‘Hmm?’

‘I mean, what are we doing today?’

‘Oh.’ Brandon took a long sip from quite possibly one of the largest mugs of coffee Erica had ever seen. ‘Same thing we do every day, Pinky. Try to take over the world.’

She hit his shoulder reproachfully.

‘Alright, alright.’ He took a bite of toast, mumbling around it. ‘I’ve got leave the rest of the week, ‘til Mom and Dad get back, but I’ve still got a bit of paperwork to do. So I s’pose...’ Another crumbly bite. ‘I’ll show you around a bit, then you can hang out with me, maybe do some filing or hole-punching or gofer-ing or whatever; the higher-ups will probably decide who to place you with in a couple of days time. Oi Chuck!’

‘Yeah?’ said a young man passing them, a little distractedly. He was dressed in the same official-looking uniform as Brandon, but his blonde hair was in a surprisingly non-military shaggy style; he looked more like a surfer than a government agent.

‘This is my sister, Erica. Erica, Chuck.’

‘Hi,’ he nodded to her with a smile, and she returned it, before he turned back to his colleague. ‘Hey you’re off today, right? Can you look over my report for the...’ He glanced at Erica, uncertain. ‘For the 588 alert we had last week?’

With a sigh, Brandon nodded. ‘Sure. I love reviewing reports.’

‘Cheers, dude. I’ll make it up. Aaalso-’ he said, having taken a step and then come back. ‘You know that thing that was under code 77 on Tuesday?’

‘The thing...’ Brandon stopped to think, then nodded slowly. ‘With the...’ He cut himself off again. ‘Yeah, the code 77 thing?’

‘Well it’s been moved up to a code 72 thing, so even though you’re off, you might want to have your stuff ready in case of... uh...’ Another furtive glance at Erica. ‘Code 71.’

 Brandon nodded. ‘Thanks for the heads up. See ya.’

‘ “Off” has a completely different meaning around here, doesn’t it?’ Erica asked as the surfer-agent departed.

‘You have no idea.’ Brandon tipped down the rest of his coffee, then went back for another.

 

 

‘Why is Loki’s cell in such a central place?’

Erica had wondered that since the moment she had stumbled into the manipulator’s cell room. ‘Shouldn’t he be in a dungeon somewhere?’

‘He should be,’ Brandon agreed. ‘At the bottom of a deep, dark pit; or better yet, they should put him back into the realm portal _through whence he came_.’ He used the old-fashioned words with a sour twang. ‘But for the moment, that cell is the only thing that we know can hold him. It’s a Stark Industries design, a prototype; but it needs a ton of energy – big generators all to itself – so this is where they had room for it. At least, I think that’s the reason.’

‘Oh.’ That didn’t sound quite right, but she shrugged her acceptance of the explanation.

‘And here’s my desk.’

Other than how high-tech the computers seemed to be (and the finger-print locks on the heavy-set filing cabinets), this could have been any office building in the world. Open plan, with cubicles low enough to look over while standing, but too high to do so surreptitiously; water dispensers; wheelie chairs. No pictures on these desks, though; no bobble-head dogs or pictures of sunsets with “believe”, “dream” or “faith” on them. The space was impersonal; this was where Homeland Security really happened.

Or, a piece of it, anyway.

‘Okey dokey,’ Brandon said with fake glee, rubbing his hands together. ‘Stapling or filing?’

‘Why not both?’

‘Oh, you’re going to regret you said that,’ Brandon grinned, and prepared to heft a giant paper pile in her direction – and then his beeper went off.

Around them, Erica could hear the relatively few agents at their desks also receiving the message, and there was a sudden scurry of movement.

‘Shit.’ Brandon almost tripped over his chair in the haste to grab his duffel bag. ‘I gotta – I gotta go, Ric.’ He laid his coat over his arm, then turned to her. ‘Umm... Crap... Stay here, okay?’ His eyes were serious, pushing his point as much as he could. ‘Don’t touch anything, don’t read anything. I’ll send someone to come and get you, alright?’

Erica nodded. ‘It’s fine, bro. Go save the world from the code 123ABZ.’

He didn’t stick around to hear it. ‘Bye,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘And, stay there!’

‘Yeah, yeah...’ What was she, five? She watched him sprint out of sight, then pulled out her phone. No matter that S.H.I.E.L.D. had turned off its communication functions and internet capabilities. There was no amount of time that Angry Birds couldn’t kill.

 

 

Apparently there was a certain amount of time that Angry Birds could kill. That time was an hour and a half. After that, time remained very much alive.

Erica sighed as she checked her dwindling battery life. Ten more minutes of bird-tossing, then lights out. She should have brought her charger; though, then again, she’d be nervous to hook up her phone to these computers, just in case it downloaded secret files or something.

Obviously no one was coming down to get her. Brandon had probably been too worried about the code 77-72-71 situation, it must have slipped his mind. Fair enough, but still – _bored._

She spun in her chair. Whee. At least they’d left her some kind of entertainment. She got ready, wound up, then – ‘Wheeheeee!’ She smiled as she and the chair became the centre of a blurred world, her feet dancing over the chair’s stems to keep her miniature planet spinning.

A movement in the corner of her eye brought her to a dizzy halt. Her face flushed a deep maroon – had an agent come back after all? ‘Hello?’

There it was again, a streak of black low to the ground, gone in a second behind another partition.

Erica looked around cautiously, then rose from the wheelie chair, sneaking towards where she thought she’d seen it. She peered under the cubicle’s desk.

Two green eyes stared back.

‘Kitty!’ she exclaimed happily, getting into a lower kneeling position. ‘Hello there, little one! Come here.’ She clicked her fingers, holding them out. ‘Puss-puss-puss,’ she encouraged. ‘Come here, kitty-cat.’

The sleek black feline glared at her a moment, then rubbed itself against the computer drive, nearly falling over in its eagerness, before deigning to walk towards her, stopping just past her hands. She tutted and leaned towards it, stroking down its spine. ‘Sorry I don’t have longer arms, _your majesty_ ,’ she jibed, but now the cat grew braver and slinked over, sniffing her knee and then nuzzling it.

‘What a cutie.’ Erica was feeling a bit bad about being away from the desk she had promised to stay at, so she stood, her knees giving a bit of a _creak_ as she did. ‘Come on, fluffy, come this way.’

The cat hesitated; then, as she took a step, it suddenly made to rush past her. She gasped as her Converse landed on its paw; she stumbled  to avoid it, but it was too late. The cat gave a hissing cry and bounded away from her, limping slightly.

Oh no. She had to check it was okay; she’d never forgive herself if she’d broken the office cat’s paw and then just left it. But the little thing kept darting away, giving her baleful glares when it would stop, its little leg lifted from the carpet. She tried the sneak-attack; she tried the jump-and-tackle; but the catten was as fast as a whisper, gone before she reached it – and now, they were reaching the open doorway.

‘No, please no,’ Erica uttered, her fingers crossed; but out went the cat regardless.

“Stay,” her brother had said.

It was her curiosity that had brought her here in the first place.

The cat would be fine.

She could get in serious trouble.

And yet, she followed it out anyway.

 

 

One moment it was there; the next it was gone.

She’d lost it.

The cat, that is.

( _Among other things_ , she didn’t doubt.)

Like a Cheshire, it had disappeared; the last she had seen was a wisp of a tail, and then she was alone in the passageway. Only now she realised how far she’d come, the corridors having wound their way around this labyrinth. Where was she?

Standing still, she could hear a male voice in the next room. Maybe they could help her get back to Brandon’s office, or maybe her room. She started walking towards them; but a dark feeling grew in her stomach as she recognised it.

‘Hello? Hello?! Please, someone!’

Oh. She knew where she was now. She really, _really_ shouldn’t be here.

A heaving gasp. ‘Ah! Some-someone! Help!’

Taking in air and bravery, Erica tip-toed around the corner to find the proud Prince Loki –

On all fours, retching, clutching his stomach. Panting breaths fell to the floor before he lifted his head, those sharp blue eyes finding hers.

Concerned, she took a step forwards, hoping her faith in the Stark-glass was not misplaced. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

He huffed a little. ‘Many things, some would say. But presently... ah...’ He bent back over, nearly forming a ball; it seemed like a spasm passed through him, before he returned his gaze to her. ‘That... that tray.’

Erica followed his finger to a small tray, then looked back at him. ‘Food?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘You’re acting like you’re dying because you’re hungry?’

‘Asgardian metabolism...’ He pulled a pained face, handsome features contorted then remoulded as he took back a little control. ‘Asgardian metabolism is not as your own. For days I have refused food; out of spite, no, but simply because I did not need it. And now –’ A deep breath in; a staccatoed one out. ‘Now I do need it. And that damned boy-child, the one they call “Probational Agent James”, dressed in hand-me-down suit and given the responsibility of my sustenance, was called away. And so he sets down the tray there! It’s pure cruelty, putting food in sight of a starved man but out of his reach.’

‘Let me go find someone...’ Erica said, backing away.

‘They won’t come. I have called for who knows how long now. Most likely they are off saving the world from –’another wince, _probably_ pain-related – ‘some threat that isn’t me. Please, girl!’

‘I can’t...’ She peered out the door, hoping to miraculously find someone to direct her. ‘I don’t have the authority to-’

‘Look.’ Loki’s tone was suddenly crisp and concise. ‘I am a prince of Asgard. Perhaps a prince out of favour, but still a prince nonetheless. If I die in Earthly custody, my father will be honour-bound to bring war to your puny planet. So make your choice, dear girl – watch everything you know and love die by godly wrath... Or, feed me.’

When he put it like that. ‘You have to stay where you are,’ she ordered shakily. ‘No sudden movements.’

 ‘In my current state, you have nothing to fear, surely,’ the downed god grinned wryly.

She threw him an unamused stare, then picked up the tray and brought it to the oversized fishbowl. Godbowl. Whatever it was. ‘There’s no opening on this thing.’

‘The detection magic in the cage device recognises the food tray and releases the locking system, I believe,’ Loki advised, still coiled on the floor.

‘Sorry? Oh right, the tray’s chipped.’ She ran the tray near one of the techno-looking bits, and sure enough, a hole near the bottom of the glass opened up, just large enough to slip the tray through. ‘Here we go-’

‘Hey! Get away from there!’

And _now_ there were agents around. She whipped her head around to look at the armed approaching agents. ‘It’s okay, I’m just giving Loki food, I’m not-’

Then Loki pounced.

His hand shot past the food tray still half in the hole, affixing itself around her wrist like vines, and all of a sudden it seemed like her stomach, her gut, her insides had dropped into an abyss.

Blackness covered her eyes.

Shouting, shouting around her, muffled like through water.

Disorien-whoa, dizziness swept her mi-thoughtsss-brain, swept... her braiiiiin-the floor the roof the-no-the-walls were coming! towards her couldn’t, see but they were but at least she was still conscio-she could... still-she was still conscious.

 

 

But her vision.

Black.


	5. Save

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people :)
> 
> If you've read my other fic... don't ask what it is with me and spiders. I'm sorry. They terrify me, and somehow that means they fascinate me. Hope it doesn't put you off!
> 
> Comments are like cookies: I want more. :P
> 
> Yours as ever,  
> -The Plot Ninja

Brandon was in the locker room, changing out his bulletproof vest for his suit, when the call came in. ‘Code 40 – everyone to lockdown positions,’ the radio buzzed.

 _Code 40_... Brandon’s mind raced for a bit – they had codes for everything, honestly, which one was this... Then, _Oh. Code 40. Shit_.

He scrambled to put his vest on again, reholstering his handgun and snatching up a rifle as he left the room. ‘Code 40!’ he yelled to some of the techs he passed in the hallway. ‘You should be on your way back to your quarters! Go, go, go!’ He neared his post, calmly ordering more junior agents who seemed to be milling around aimlessly. He was in his element. Keeping calm under intense stress and analysing situations were qualities that had enabled his (frankly astonishing) quick rise up the ranks – most agents his status were at _least_ 3 years older. ‘Agent Challand: In a code 40 I’m to-’

‘Challand!’ exclaimed his superior officer, a fit 35-year-old called Richards, reaching him through the criss-crossing people in uniforms. ‘The order’s been given for you to stand down, alright son?’

‘Sir?’ That was unusual. ‘But in a-’

‘I know, I know; but, orders from above. You can leave your weapons in the cache here-’

Richards was nervous; Richards was playing nice. There was no reason for the change in orders, nothing had changed except...

‘Oh god. Erica.’

‘Stand down, Challand!’ Richards shouted at him, fumbling for his gun; but it was too late, Brandon was around the corner, sprinting down the familiar corridor, (swiped his card, _c’mon, c’mon_ ), through that door –

The inside of the cell room was near silent, despite the 20-odd agents stood there, guns raised, target locked onto -

Erica, lying on the ground, eyes shut, face ashen-grey, arm outstretched and wrist painfully clenched in the long-fingered hand of -

Loki, crouched in a coil like a cobra, his lips upturned into a nasty smirk which only grew when he saw the ghost-white Brandon; but he didn’t acknowledge the man, flicking his eyes back to Coulson. ‘So you would kill the girl,’ the god mulled over conversationally, ‘rather than risk my infecting her mind?’

Coulson, still in full military garb from the mission, nodded bleakly. ‘If we see so much as a trace of your mind control in her, then my agents will use any force necessary to nullify the risk, yes.’ The agent’s face was hatefully blank – Brandon knew he wasn’t bluffing. ‘Let her go, Loki. You’re not using her to get out of there.’

‘Hmm.’ Loki pretended to think, but Brandon saw the quick squeeze in his grip, and with a yell, his baby sister was writhing on the floor, face hardened into a mask of agony. Brandon felt a panicked pain grip his heart at the sight of her trying to curl up, like paper on a fire. ‘You have no idea what my powers are capable of, do you? Some of it, of course, is just fairy tales – you think I can bend her will? Not without my sceptre, I’m afraid. But I deal in illusions; and there’s more than one form of mind control.’ This time his steady, piercing eyes were on Brandon when his hand jerked around Erica’s wrist. ‘How about spiders?’

Suddenly the girl was screaming, clawing at her upper arm with her free hand, eyes dewy and wide as she scraped her nails across the skin.

‘In her mind, they’re hatching in her veins, breaking through the surface of her skin, then crawling under her clothes. Thousands of them.’ Loki explained. He blinked lazily. ‘Hundreds of thousands.’

Brandon took an involuntary step forward, but Loki’s eyes had turned to the teenager with a mockery of a fond look. ‘If I let go now, it wouldn't stop. Spiders hatching under your skin forever, can you imagine that? She would slowly go insane. Well, not so slowly, I suppose.’ He laughed lightly, true amusement tingeing the sound. ‘Or... What’s better? Hair and nails eternally on fire?’ A pulse in his grip, a change in Erica’s wailing pitch. ‘Your choice.’

‘What is the point of this, Loki?’ Coulson barked out, obviously affected by the girl’s suffering but trying not to show it. ‘We can not let you out of there. She is not worth risking thousands of civilian lives.’

Loki’s eyebrows raised, and he nodded, considering this statement. ‘To you, perhaps not. But she is to him.’

Brandon’s assault rifle found the back Coulson’s neck before his brain had had a chance to catch up. This was treason. This was what they executed people for. He found that he didn’t care. ‘Release him. I know you know the code, sir.’

Coulson took a moment to readjust his threat parameters; half of the soldiers around them now pointed guns in Brandon’s direction. ‘You were meant to return to your quarters, soldier.’ Neutral tone. Playing for time.

A deep, tortured cry from his little sister.

‘Cut the bullshit. The code.’

‘You don’t think I’d die for my country?’ Coulson laughed, albeit shakily. ‘I’ve given up so much of my life for it already, maybe early retirement would be-’

‘It’s the code for Loki or the code for that San Francisco bomb.’

‘What?’ That shook Coulson right and good.

Brandon’s phone had made it into his hand. ‘That bomb we're monitoring. San Francisco. You know I can do it – in fact, you know I’m one of the only ones who _could_ do it.’ Clicking buttons in his hand, lightning fast as he prepared a text message before he could be stopped. ‘Similar to the code to disarm it, but different results.’

‘No.’ Coulson shook his head, as much as one dares to with a barrel against one’s spine. ‘No way. You’re dedicated to your sister, but you’re no mass murderer, Challand.’

‘At this time of day, minimal casualties, though there would be some. But the explosion... America would treat it as the next 9/11.’ Brandon grimaced. ‘There would be questions about security and safety. There would be backlash. Renewed fear of terrorizm among civilians. I don’t want this, sir.’ The consequences would be dire. ‘But I have to keep her safe.’

Loki’s voice mused quietly, ‘ _Clever_. If sentimental.’ Brandon ignored it.

The sound of about twenty armed men holding their breaths and their triggers.

Coulson was resigned. ‘Okay. Alright. Let’s-’

‘No funny stuff.’

The two inched forwards. Brandon kept his finger tight on the “send” button as Coulson keyed in the code. The glass dissolved away.

Loki pulled his still-twitching prisoner up by her wrist, holding her to him. ‘Well done, well done indeed.’

‘My sister,’ Brandon responded hoarsely. ‘You have to let her go now.’

‘Oh, sisssster,’ Loki pondered, nodding slowly. He pulled the girl, still a ragdoll in his grip, to face towards him. ‘Ah yes, I do see a little resemblance, now you point it out; Midgardians look much the same to me, though.’ His leer turned curious and almost gentle, addressing her. ‘Your brother cares for you incredibly deeply, little girl. I wonder why.’

‘Let her go!’

Loki's head snapped up to glare at Brandon. ‘I don’t take well to being ordered, mortal,’ the god spat back acidly, and suddenly his full armour glimmered into existence; ‘in fact, you are in the presence of a god – why do you not kneel?!’ The voice was booming, and it echoed around the crowded room; but when no one moved, he sighed. ‘In the olden times, people knew how to venerate – either through prayer, or sometimes, if we were very lucky, with a virgin sacrifice.’ He looked down at the girl in his arms. ‘Oh wait – perhaps you still do.’

A pause while the room took in the words, then Brandon yelled ‘N-’

The room went black, just for a moment.

When the lights came back on, Loki and Erica were gone.

 

Two agents tackled Brandon to the ground.

An agent secured his weapons.

Many agents began mumbling into radios.

Coulson picked up Brandon’s phone, and swore.

 

**[New Message]**

[Add Contact From Phone Book?]

**33/160 - [Text msg] – [abc*]**

Im sorry. Everyon i.m so so sorry

 

When Erica’s came back into her full mind, she felt fear in her soul. There was nothing she didn’t remember – electricity in her veins, spiders under her skin, fire clawing out her fingernails and burning through her hair. It was torture, she had been tortured, and now here he was, her nightmarish captor... slowly drawing out the black poison that had been coursing through her bloodstream, by pulling it out through her wrist. She couldn’t comprehend how he was doing it – she couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the ache as it left her, soaking back into him, leaving behind nothing but the memory of it. But it had done its damage. She could feel the cracks.

The dark-haired god had his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He turned his head to the side, closing his eyes as he sought out the last traces. ‘It is my belief the final vestiges are gone. Are you agreed?’

Erica eyed him warily, then snatched her wrist away, rubbing at the strangely blue spot on her skin. ‘Yeah, it feels better.’

She threw a punch.

In a blur, Loki caught her fist, bending it back and throwing her off balance. She swung her other hand around, hoping to catch him from the other side, but no luck. His strength was incredible – godly, even – and he simply bent her wrists, twisting them together in front of her chest. His expression was darkly menacing. ‘Oh-hoh, you shouldn’t test me, mortal. My patience with your kind ebbed away with my imprisonment.’

Erica tried to show him how impressed by his patience she was with a kick to the shin; but he just pushed her backwards in large strides, ramming her against a wall and knocking the breath out of her. She gasped for breath; he merely brought his face in close. Eye to eye, she couldn’t help but cower under his glare; and then he leaned in close to her ear. ‘I could squash you, like an ant underfoot. I could end you right here. Is that what you want?’ She was leaning away, willing her heartbeat to slow, but when he pressed a hand firmly around her throat she knew he could feel the frightened patter. ‘I hope not. I plan to... _enjoy_ you – ’ he sipped the word like a cocktail ‘ – as fully as I can.’

Her stomach turned a somersault, and she tried to struggle, but in his shackle-like hold there was no slack to move in.

‘Oh, you don’t like the idea of that, do you?’ he breathed into her ear. She could feel his exhales warm against her. ‘I think you’re going to be marvellous entertainment – you seem so... fiery. So it would be a shame to have to put you out.’

He backed away, blue eyes still pinning her in place. By the time she realised she had been released, the door had been closed, locked, and Loki was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commentcommentcommentcommentcommentcommentcookiescommentcommentcommentcommentcomment


	6. Schrödinger's Cat is Alive and Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole story has a trigger warning; I encourage the sensitive souls to, again, read the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been away so long, that I've probably lost my original readers. To them: I'm so, so sorry. Abandonment is a serious issue, and I abandoned you. But, I'm back, and this time I have someone to slap me when I'm lagging.  
> Comments are what made me begin again, so please, let me know if you enjoyed it - or didn't! - and I will give you all my love.
> 
> Yours then, yours now,  
> -The Plot Ninja.

Erica paced across the dim room she’d been left in. She was barely containing a large-scale panic attack that threatened to reduce her to a sobbing heap; but no, that wouldn’t help anyone. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all she needed to do.

Vague memories came from a book she’d once read; “Get to know your surroundings. A little bit of knowledge can save you seconds, which might be all you need.” She didn’t feel that the advice was going to be particularly lifesaving, but it was something, if not just something to do.

One, two, three, four steps wide. Five and a half steps long. A metal bunk jutted out from the back wall, dressed with a thin mattress and a couple of blankets. From the bed to the door, she could make it in three sprinting strides.

Half way down the room there was a toilet. No flusher, though – ohh. It flushed when the lid was down; otherwise the drain was sealed shut. She wasn’t sure what use an open drain could have been to her, but she felt a pang of despair knowing that there was an option closed off to her; clearly the cell was designed to hold someone much more brilliant at escape attempts, but she might have thought of it – who knew?

There was a small air vent built into the roof – too tall for her to reach, too small for it to be much use. The light was built in, flush to the roof, also unreachable.

No sink. No water. They could deprive her whenever they wanted; and with the dry, conditioned air, she already felt nervous about that.

It wasn’t cold in the cell, nor warm; it seemed to be heated to a temperature devoid of sensation. The lighting was the same, filling the room with a grey glow reminiscent of twilight; not bright like day, nor dark like night, but a kind of middle-ground. He’d taken away indications of time, she realised, another psychological trick that would make her susceptible to him. The ball of anger in her stomach grew.

‘LOKI!’ she shouted, glaring into the corners of the ceiling. She could see no cameras, but they were undoubtedly there. ‘Let me go! You’re free, I’m of no use to you – what is the point of this?’

Her own voice echoing around the room was the only response she got; not that she’d been expecting one. She tried again anyway. ‘Let me GO!’ She punctuated it by pummelling the door, smooth and without handle. There was a food flap low down; she pushed at it, but it was locked tight. ‘Argh,’ she voiced, giving the thing a kick before storming to the bed and throwing herself onto it. Ow. The mattress was too thin to properly protect from the metal. She made a mental note not to do that again, at the same time doing her best not to react to the slight pain in her shoulders. No show of pain. No show of tears. She was not a terrified prisoner; she was a furious captive that would soon get out, either by being rescued by S.H.I.E.L.D., or by her own means.

Was S.H.I.E.L.D. looking for her?

They were looking for Loki, undoubtedly.

Maybe they would find her as a result of that.

Maybe Brandon was looking for her.

No. Brandon was probably locked up, doing time for saving her from eternal mental torture.

How come every time she messed up, he paid for it?

Would she ever get to see him again?

Would she ever get to see anyone again?

The solid, grey roof offered no answer. It just hung over her heavily, the concrete lid to her casket.

No tears.

No tears.

 

 

Ten minutes or ten hours later, food was pushed under the door. She looked at it from the bunk, wondered if she should eat it – perhaps it was drugged? – but then she realised how silly that was.

If he wanted to drug her, he wouldn’t have to hide it.

She still didn’t bother moving for it. Here, lying on her back in the bunk, things made sense. Gravity holding her to the mattress. The metal brackets welding it to the wall. Erica traced her fingers around some of the welds again, the bumps like waves on her fingertips.

At some point the tray was pulled out and replaced; she ignored that too.

Maybe she dozed; maybe not. Hard to tell when the room stayed changeless. She began to count her breaths – 1, 2, 3, 4...

58 was a big rush of air as the door suddenly flew open; she jetted upright, then backed herself into the bunk’s corner as the God of Mischief stormed in.

 ‘Get away!’ she shrieked as he caught her right hand, trying to yank herself away as he fished for her flailing left.

‘Do you know what your “friends” at S.H.I.E.L.D. have done?’ Loki seethed, grappling at her and pulling her to her feet. Never mind she’d been his prisoner the entire time they’d been gone. ‘Do you know what they have done?!’

The hands let go for a moment, and she tried to dart away from him, tried to get past him to the wide-open door, but he just grabbed her around the middle and tossed her towards the wall; she caught herself with a hand before she crashed into it, but he was right there with her, pressing her to it so she had to turn her face in order to not smoosh it against the concrete. His body ground against hers, and she cried out in fear. ‘Please! I don’t know what they’ve done, I don’t know!’

She felt his forearm against her back, pressing hard. ‘They closed down my base!’ he roared in her ear. ‘In the pursuit of you!’ He spun her around, grasping her by the hair and neck. ‘Such a mistake they have made, and they will pay. And you, oh, you will pay too.’

He pulled at either side of her blouse collar until the buttons gave way; she screamed, battling his hands with hers to try to stop him; but his destructive force found her singlet next, tearing it right down the middle.

A sneer formed on his lips. ‘My, my – is this not a pretty undergarment?’ he leered, hand delving roughly into it. ‘Bows and butterflies? How... cute.’

‘St-Stop!’ Her attempt at removing his hand failing, Erica leaned forward instead, aiming a punch for his nose; in the jostle it glanced off his jawbone instead, but it carried some force. He paused for a moment, seemingly surprised.

‘GET. OFF!’ she yelled with finality, pushing him, hard, high up on his chest like they’d been taught at a self-defence class long ago, despite knowing how little impact it would have. ‘They’re not looking for me, I’m no one to them! They’re looking for you – they’ll always be looking for you! No matter how far on this Earth you go, as long as you’re here they’ll be hunting you down, getting closer and closer to destroying you. Don’t you understand? You should give up and go home now, because they’ll never leave you in peace until you’re either banished back into your own fucking realm, or dead.’

Loki’s hands dropped from her, and Erica quickly pulled the remnants of her clothing over her chest to cover her before forcing herself to stand stock-still. The man was still breathing heavily and scowling, but Erica knew she had made a good point. She waited to see if that would calm him, or infuriate him further.

A hand snaked out and grabbed her by the shoulder, and Loki pulled her close enough to feel the heated air from his breath. She leaned away as he spoke soft and menacingly.

‘They’ll never destroy me.’

He pushed her with great force back towards the bed, storming out and clicking the door shut before she had a chance to right her balance.

Erica stood back up, trembling and clinging to herself desperately. She felt cold despite the sustained neutral temperature of the room. She took a few deep breaths, then lay herself onto the bed and covered herself with the thin blanket, then taking on as casual an expression as she could manage. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have won that one. “They’ll never destroy me”? Ha. That’s what all powerful people thought at their height. But Loki would fall, as surely as any other. And she would help S.H.I.E.L.D. to do it.

 

 

A short time later, a meal was pushed through the door. With three quick strides, Erica was across the room with a handful of mashed potato. Fast as lightning, she threw it like a Frisbee at the low meal flap, managing to get most of it through the small hole before it closed.

A small victory, maybe, but the sounds of squelching and disgust that told her she had potatoed someone’s knees was enough of a win to lift her morale. She smiled, and made herself a promise there and then: Nothing they could do was going to break her.


	7. The Deserter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the chapter this story deserves, but it's the one it needs right now.  
> Wait.  
> Wrong franchise.
> 
> I know it's not LokixErica, and I apologise for that, but plot is somewhat important too. If you want not-plot LokixErica, I cater to that too :P Also, Erica's brother is a little bit kick-ass anyway.
> 
> Yours with love,  
> -The Plot Ninja

 Brandon had been banging on the one-way glass for almost three hours straight when the door to the interview room finally opened. Out of habit, he lifted one of his bruised, red hands to his forehead in a salute. Richards, his superior officer, considered him grimly without returning the gesture. ‘Take a seat, Agent Challand.’

‘You really beat up on that glass, Challand,’ said Agent Coulson, who had entered and closed the door behind them. ‘It was starting to drive poor Bruins spare.’

Brandon winced. ‘Sorry, Jean!’ he told the one-way glass, before turning back to his senior agents. ‘But, sir, I really needed to explain. I wasn’t going to blow up the Chicago bomb, I just...’

‘Save it, Brandon,’ snapped Richards. ‘We saw your text, we know. But your bluff helped one of the worst criminals on the face of the Earth – possibly on the face of any planet – escape! Never mind a Chicago shopping centre, he’s the man that more or less wiped out the entirety of New York! You knew that, and you still helped him escape. That’s treason! What were you thinking?!’

‘I know sir, I know!’ Brandon felt his voice rising, and took a second to control it. ‘But please, can’t you understand – my sister... It was my little sister.’

Richards huffed and sat back in his chair. Coulson, however, nodded. ‘We know, Challand. No matter how patriotic someone is, family is always going to come first. Which is why we’re not going to take further action against you for that.’

‘Thank you sir, but –’

‘Had to fight for you on that account,’ Richards grumbled. ‘Don’t take it for granted.’

‘I won’t sir. But –’

‘You’ll still have to write a report on it. And you’ll have to be very careful how you word it.’

‘That’s fine sir, but –’

‘You won’t be in the field again until this works itself out, though, I’m sorry Challand.’

‘Excuse me, sir!’ Brandon all but shouted, rising to his feet. ‘My sister is still under the control of that alien psychopath. Quite frankly, after this is over you can put me in the slammer for the rest of my life for all I care; hell, shoot me straight if you want! But right now I need to be out there, looking for him, getting her back before he tortures her to death. I don’t FUCKING care about my FUCKING job right now! ¡¿Comprende?!’ By this stage Brandon’s hands were planted firmly on the table, in as aggressive a pose as he was feeling. He inhaled a deep breath, then, catching Coulson’s piercing eyes, felt suddenly abashed for his outburst. ‘Sir,’ he belatedly added.

 Coulson stood up, slowly, imposing although he didn’t come close to Brandon’s height. ‘That’s enough, Agent Challand.’

Brandon paused, then lowered himself shakily back into his chair. He was being held by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Agent Coulson was one of the few men who could help him; pissing him off would not help him to find Erica.

Coulson turned to the man sitting next to him. ‘Richards, could you leave us for a minute?’

‘Yessir.’

After Richards had left, Brandon was expecting Coulson to sit back down; instead, the older agent walked away from the table, as if gathering his thoughts.

‘Challand, you’re a smart man. Tactics-minded. That’s why we hired you.’

Brandon waited, unsure of how to respond. ‘... Thank you, sir...’

Coulson continued his walk around the room. ‘I’d like you to think about something for me. What would happen if we put you back out into the field right now?’

A pause. ‘... Not to toot my own trumpet, sir, but then you’d have an intelligent, hard-working agent entirely dedicated to the task of finding Loki.’

‘And?’ Coulson prompted.

‘And...’ _Is this a trick question?_ ‘And to finding Erica?’

‘Alright. And what would happen if and when you found them?’

Brandon deliberated. How would he approach tactically? ‘I would take a small squadron, maybe 4 to 8 men, through their base in the night. Take them by surprise. We would need an Avenger to take on Loki; I’m sure Captain Rodgers, or Agent Romanov, would volunteer for the task considering their role in New York. We would find him...’

Suddenly the reason behind Coulson’s questions made sense. ‘I couldn’t be the one to find him; S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t trust me not to take him out on the spot. Or...’ Brandon looked down to his hands. He shouldn’t be giving them reasons to keep him away from this mission. But, it was S.H.I.E.L.D.. Coulson already knew why he couldn’t be part of this, he was just making sure Brandon knew too. ‘Or I might be distracted in the mission, trying to find Erica instead,’ he continued listing. ‘He could use Erica against me, and so I would be a hindrance to the team; potentially even a threat. I’ve used my bluff, so the next one would have to be serious.’

‘Exactly, Agent Challand. The list goes on.’ Coulson’s eyes were sympathetic, but resolved. ‘New scenario. What if you are kept here?’

 _Oh no._ ‘Sir, I...’

‘What are the scenarios, Agent?’

Brandon exhaled carefully, shutting his eyes and running through the possibilities in his head. ‘I could be blackmailed through communications; I’m a potential threat to this base. I could try to contact Loki to make a deal. I could get out and try taking on Loki against orders, raising all the problems from before. Sir, I...’ He opened his eyes, tears threatening. ‘Where am I going?’

‘Underground. You’ll be well-treated, I promise; it’ll be like a holiday. But you’ll have to be guarded, and a little cooped-up, I’m afraid. You’ve risen quickly through the ranks here, Challand, and that’s been impressive; we still expect great things. But it’s also going to be your shortcoming in this instance. You’ve taken on certain sensitive cases...’

Brandon nodded sharply. ‘Especially to do with the Avengers Initiative and the South Dakota thing, I know.’

‘World security, Challand,’ Coulson said, somewhat apologetically. ‘We all make these sacrifices.’

Brandon heaved a deep sigh; it didn’t loosen any of the tightened muscles enclosing his ribcage. He had failed to convince anyone, and so had failed Erica. Why was he always getting Erica into these messes?

The door opened again, and Richards came back into the room, this time trailed by Jean Bruins. ‘We’ll escort you down to the transport bay,’ she told him.

Brandon rose slowly to his feet, rounding the steel table to follow his friend out of the room; but as he passed Coulson, one hand shot out and grabbed the agent by his suit lapel. The other two made a move towards him, but Coulson signalled them back.

‘You’ve got to find my sister,’ Brandon implored, locking his eyes onto the senior agent’s with total sincerity. ‘Find her, get her back here safely, or at least safely away from Loki. Please.’ His voice broke a little, becoming rough. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do to her.’

Coulson’s face was grave. ‘You have my word, Challand,’ he responded. ‘I will do all I can to ensure your sister’s safety.’

Brandon let go of the suit material. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he followed Richards out of the room, Jean trailing behind him.

 

 

Richards and Jean helped him pack the sparse items he had in his room; clothes, shoes and toiletries, but there wasn’t much else he would be allowed. His tinkering-desk had to be left as it was in case he had a USB tucked in there somewhere; he couldn’t take any paperwork or journals in case of sensitive information. The only real personal items he had left to take were the photos on his wall. A high school football photo; one at a barbeque when he was 17, surrounded by teenaged versions of the adults he only saw online now; his mom and dad, wine in hand, posing and grinning into the camera at his dad’s 40th birthday; and poor, terrified Erica, hiding behind him at Disneyland. As he plucked this photo from the wall, he felt a deep pool of shame gather in his guts. This was how he always thought of her; the tiny blonde six-year-old who he’d taught to swim, and to wrestle, and to be as brave as she was now. Who had always trusted in him to protect her.

He had failed to protect her.

If he hadn’t taken the damn files home... hell, if he hadn’t taken this job! He had known it would be dangerous, but he hadn’t thought for a second about how it would put his family in danger too. He was a strategist, and yet he hadn’t seen this coming; and now he had lost her.

He wouldn’t allow it.

He peered over his shoulder at the other agents, checking their attention was elsewhere, then casually leaned towards his desk. A small gadget the size and shape of a hockey puck lay near the edge, battery pack spewing out from its casing but with all its wires still intact. Brandon hit one of the devices’ buttons and started counting from ten.

‘I think that might be all,’ Richards announced, closing the small, military-issue suitcase with a click. ‘Was there anything else you –’

Brandon hit the deck.

There was a muffled sound, like a pillow thrown at a wall, and he felt a burst of air just inches above his head. Richards thudded to the floor, unconscious.

No time to think; Jean, who had bent down to pick something up, had been spared the blast. It took her just moments to kick into action, her foot headed towards his face at an unbelievable speed. The two of them had gone through Academy together; she had been first in the class in hand-to-hand combat, and since gaining field experience she had only improved. He blocked, aiming a punch to her sternum, but she dodged easily and clipped his ear with her own strike. Two rapid-fire hits landed on his left arm, deadening it. He saw her reaching for her gun holster.

With one last push he rushed at her, aiming a twisting kick at her ankle which he knew she had injured a week and a half ago. It was more luck than skill that the attack landed; she cried out and landed heavily on the ground. Brandon took the chance to drive his knee into her temple, and she, too, was out for the count.

He tried his hardest to ignore the guilt chewing a hole in his stomach as he stepped over the unconscious agents, moving quickly. Duct tape wouldn’t hold them for long when they awoke, but it could be the minute that he needed. He also removed the radios from their ears and phones from their pockets, before hefting his (helpfully pre-packed) pack onto his back, snatching up a few more gadgets in various stages of completion from his desk, and leaving the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound as quickly as he could.

A deserter.

A traitor.

He’d better not fail.

 

 

 

Just 6 hours later, Agent Coulson received an email.

 

**From: anonymous@age.nt                                                    At 10:23pm tonight**

**To: phil.c189@gmail.com**

please accept this as apology

not his main base but its a start

going in at about 0300hours if any shield folk wanna party

dont arrest me please

37.582133,-79.045365

 

Coulson looked down at his pajamas, then back up to the screen. Sighing, he picked up his phone.

‘Get a team together, 30 men, and a plane. We’ve got news of a certain Norse god’s base. See you in 20.’

In 6 hours, one furious brother had done what the entire rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t managed in weeks, Coulson realised. Maybe they should review the risk scenarios.

If he kept this up, they'd have a new Avenger on their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The not-plot LokixErica I mentioned, by the way, is in my story Not God, Only Me. Be warned, though; it's a little intense.)


	8. Electric Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, since I charged him with the task of making sure I posted regularly, all time-related complaints should be directed to AKnightOfTheRealm.
> 
> I kid. I take near-full responsibility.
> 
> BUT as recompense, I do have a ridiculously long chapter for you.  
> It's because I love you so dearly.  
> :) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Yours as always,  
> -The Plot Ninja

It was hard to sleep in the semi-lit cell; Erica found that her brain didn’t switch off properly, muddled thoughts swirling around her mind in multi-layered whirlpools for hours before she dropped off into a light doze – nothing deeper – waking up unrefreshed and with just as busy a head as before.

The door opened, releasing her from one such frustrating sleep.

Erica quickly sat up, drawing the sections of her ripped shirt across herself, and saw a solemn soldier, not much older than herself, enter the room. ‘Out,’ he barked sharply. He stood at attention next to the door, clearly waiting for her to exit ahead of him.

‘Do I get clothes first?’ Erica sniped back more bravely than she felt, not moving from the bed.

Supernaturally blue eyes pierced hers, starkly contrasting the soldier’s dark skin. ‘No.’ Empty of emotion. ‘Out.’

Erica shivered, and did as he said. His entire demeanour terrified her; she couldn’t see an ounce of humanity still in his gaze. A zombie, just orders wrapped in a menacing shell. She tried not to show her weak knees as she squeezed past him.

It was the first time she had seen outside her cell since leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., and as the soldier directed her through the corridors she took the opportunity to try and figure out where they were. She thought they were _probably_ still in the country (or at least she hoped so in case there really were any rescue efforts being planned). It was a solidly built facility, with high, small windows in white-painted concrete walls, and cold, echoing floors. Maybe an old prison or army base. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought they might be in a basement level, the windows perhaps just breaching ground level.

The escort soldier kept pushing her between the shoulder blades, bringing up her speed whenever he thought she was delaying. Which, to be fair, she was. She wanted to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, although with the brisk pace they were moving, that wasn’t very much.

There were doors securely closed left and right all along the corridor, and at first the building seemed entirely empty; but as they progressed they began to pass more and more people, mostly in uniforms of various sorts, bustling in and out of rooms using key cards and carrying various pieces of equipment from place to place. Some of the objects were definitely weapons; machine guns and explosives, huge cases of bullets too. Others she wasn’t sure of, looking more technological or even alien, but chances were high that they were types of weapons as well.

They came to an intersection of corridors, and the possessed soldier gave her a shove towards the left. Out the corner of her eye, though, she saw a door on her right with what looked like natural light streaming through it. An escape route? She kept moving, trying not to raise suspicion. A second quick glance, weighing up her options... Then she decided to chance it.

Fast as she could, she forced her legs into action, throwing her body forward to add to her speed and hopefully help her avoid the grasping hand that had probably reached out to catch her, though of course she didn’t look back to find out. Eyes on her goal, she was closing the distance... Halfway now... Mere feet away...

Of course he caught her. He was a field-ready soldier, taller and faster than she was; and she was weak and overtired from captivity. She struggled against him, trying to throw off the hand on her shoulder and continue her bid for freedom, trying to land a punch or a kick or some form of assault on him; he collected first one wrist, then the other, and pulled them up over her head and behind her back as easily as if she was a poseable doll. The hold put strain on her shoulder joints and forced her elbows up behind her ears, bending her head forwards. ‘Okay, okay!’ she pleaded, apprehensive about dislocating an arm. ‘Let me go, I won’t run.’ She tried to pull her arms back in front of her, anxious to pull her shirt back together, but the soldier kept holding her arms where he had placed them, and used the pressure to turn her around and force her to walk back in the direction he had first indicated.

Erica’s cheeks flushed dark red as they passed people in the hallway, noticing pairs of eyes that flitted over her. In theory, she knew that the bra covering her prevented them from seeing anything you wouldn’t see on a beach, but this involuntary exposure made her feel much more vulnerable.

The soldier guided her through the first wide-open door she had seen. They had finally reached their destination; it seemed to be the central hub for Loki’s operations. No windows, instead the room was lit by electronics, neon lights, and screens that were stacked roof-high, a buzzing hive of information. It was huge like a warehouse, with large boulders of technology – possibly generators – set in various places throughout. Cables as wide as her arms snaking their way across the floor everywhere, and there were maybe 50 workstations manned by electric-blue-eyed human shells typing and murmuring technojumble to one another. As her eyes started adjusting to the sections of bright and dark throughout the room, she saw a huddle of people around a screen a way off, and recognised Loki as one of them right away – without his helmet, but very much master of his domain nonetheless.

She was led to a plain metal chair and was sat down roughly. As soon as her arms were released she grabbed one side of her shirt in each hand and crossed her arms to cover herself again.

‘Stay here,’ the soldier issued firmly, staring her down to ensure she got the message. Erica nodded. Patience was definitively not his strong suit, and she now knew better than to test it again.

Again finding herself in a new situation, she tried to start estimating width, length, and steps in the room, but she was distracted watching the soldier approach the so-called god and wait for acknowledgement before beginning to speak. He was presumably telling him that she had been brought. She dreaded to think what she was doing here; not just in this room, but still in the facility at all.

Loki hadn’t killed her yet, though; that was a start, at least.

The soldier concluded his message, then saluted and left briskly, clearly already laden with other important tasks. She held her breath apprehensively, but Loki continued talking with the group, ignoring her presence in the room. She couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing.

Erica looked around some more, checking out the people around her (no one she recognised, not that that was a surprise), the exits and entrances, the technology. Nothing she could use, not that she could see at least; the doors were too far to surreptitiously make a get-away, and for a temporary base, its wires and devices were surprisingly well-secured to the floor. And winding its way towards her, carefully, warily, was...

‘Oh,’ breathed Erica. ‘No way.’

Big green eyes stared at her out of a little black face as the cat treaded slowly through the room.

‘You’re Loki’s cat?’ Erica said quietly, more to herself that the feline. She reached out her hand for the cat to sniff; the cat, instead, bumped its head up alongside her fist as if giving her permission to pat it. And then remained at arm’s length as she attempted to do so.

‘As much of a trickster as your owner, aren’t you?’ Leaning out of her seat, Erica managed to get one hand around the cat’s side and one underneath to lift it, pulling it onto her lap. For a moment she thought it would just leap right off again, but after a few persuasive strokes it settled, a determined purr echoing through its body as it made itself comfortable.

A door burst open further along the room with a sudden commotion, and Erica watched six of Loki’s blue-eyed soldiers manhandling three figures into a line. Loki finally took notice, leaving his group of technicians to observe the scene. Erica debated trying to get the attention of one of them; but, understandably, their attention was fairly well-centred on the alien-god standing a few feet away from them. They were two women and a man, dressed in standard-looking army uniform. The centre woman held herself like a leader, her countenance hardened into a staunch mask in the face of the danger. The man wasn’t doing so well at hiding his fear, but his posture remained ram-rod straight and military. The third soldier, though, was visibly trembling, her eyes wide like a rabbit’s with tears welling in the corners. The man holding her had to keep a tight grip, it seemed, just to prevent her from falling to the ground.

Loki strolled towards row of the new prisoners, eyes roving over them like he was inspecting cattle. He moved closer to the youngest soldier, the trembling girl, who let out a whimper at the uncomfortable proximity.

‘You. What’s your rank?’

The woman opened her mouth to speak.

‘Don’t answer him,’ the lead soldier snapped to her.

The sharp green eyes changed their target in an instant. ‘Hmm,’ the god mused. ‘Here’s the one that gives the orders.’ He paused, chuckling; the gun-wielding guards around the prisoners let out amused sniggers too. ‘I’m afraid, “Captain”,’ he read from her lapel, allowing his eyes to linger where the tag lay for a moment too long, ‘your orders don’t hold much ground around here.’

No response; the woman’s eyes stared resolutely ahead as though oblivious to the danger around her, as though she were made of wood.

Loki, unaccustomed to being ignored, clicked his tongue. ‘You should look at people when they are talking to you, you know. Are you not interested in hearing out my offer for the three of you?’

The captain now allowed her eyes to lock onto Loki’s, and she appeared to think about her response for a second; then she spat with all her power towards her captor, missing his face but landing the hit on his armour just below his chin.

Silence fell over the control room. Everyone held their breath.

Loki looked down at the spittle slowly, then back up at the woman, a wave of his hand magicking away the wet patch instantly. ‘Well, well. You are something rather different. Brave? Or stupid?’

He moved back a step as if to examine her more fully, then motioned to the guard stood behind her. The guard gripped her bound hands and drove his palm into her upper back, pushing her forcefully to a kneeling position and holding her there. Loki had snatched up his staff and now pointed its tip to the back of the woman’s neck. ‘This is a position _much_ more befitting your situation, don’t you think?’ he jibed. ‘Now.’ He pressed the staff painfully into her skin. ‘Apologise, and I may consider sparing your life.’

Erica almost sprung to her feet, wanting to run in and help the woman; the black cat on her knees let out a mewl, bringing reality back to her. Weaponless, against a god and a multitude of his brainwashed soldiers whom she had proved to be weaker than and slower than, with no plan of attack; in truth, she would be less than no help at all to the woman – especially if she annoyed the god and made the situation worse. She stayed put.

A thick silence hung around them, the captain keeping her lips tightly drawn together. Loki repeated with a snarl, ‘Apologise. Or die.’

Even kneeling, pushed to the ground, and restrained, the woman lifted her head as much as she could, attempting to meet the god’s eyes. ‘Never,’ she flung back at him. ‘Go ahead, you’ll have to kill me.’

Again, silence – all but the woman’s now heavy breathing and the whirrs of the machines around them. Erica closed her eyes.

 Then, surprisingly, Loki backed off. ‘Brave _and_ stupid, I see.’ With a hand signal he called off the guard, then twisted the staff in his hands thoughtfully, watching the end glow blue. ‘I could certainly use more like you.’

He touched the staff to her chest. The captain’s eyes glazed, then rolled, then finally turned bright blue.

The cat twitched and hissed suddenly as if it had caught a fleabite, extending its claws before pouncing off her lap in a painful streak of black fur; Erica must have twitched or gasped louder than she had realised. When she looked back up, she saw that the woman soldier had been released of the cable ties and was standing at attention, awaiting orders. Loki, meanwhile, had moved on to the other woman. ‘Do we really need this one?’ he asked, addressing one of his guards, who shrugged.

‘After last night, I thought we might just need to build up ranks a bit again,’ he explained. ‘Plus she’s pretty.’

‘Fair enough.’ Loki poked her, too, with the glowing blue staff, none too gently. Immediately her sobs stopped, and she too stood at attention.

The last remaining soldier, trying to stay stoic next to his brainwashed teammates, wouldn’t look Loki in the eye as the fearful stick got closer and closer to his chest, lip wobbling almost in accordance with how far away it was.

The mischievous god, as sadistic as ever, took his time, inching the staff closer bit by bit and enjoying the fear in the man’s expression. It was minutes before he bored of the game, the man almost in tears too before Loki finally touched his chest.

The effects were immediate, and nothing like on the other two soldiers. The man collapsed to the floor, apparently unconscious, full-body spasms shaking through him.

Erica gasped. Why had Loki done that, without provocation? But Loki’s frown told her that it hadn’t been on purpose, though it didn’t seem to come as a surprise. He motioned to some of his men. ‘That really is quite a shame. No matter. You – take these two, induct them into how things work around here. And you, take that one to the holding room. Wait for him to awaken; find out what he knows; dispose of him.’

“Dispose of him.” Erica felt disgust and fear wash through her anew. His disregard for human lives was horrifying. She had to leave here, or she felt sure that soon, she too would be “disposed of” just as casually.

The men began following their orders, clearing out of the room and taking their new comrades with them. All attention was elsewhere, she realised, looking around. Maybe she _could_ sneak out through the door after all, and–

‘Going somewhere, Miss Challand?’

Erica jumped. She hadn’t seen Loki approach; she wondered if he had used his magic to have just that effect.

Loki quirked an eyebrow. ‘Come now; it’s rude to ignore people when they ask you a question.’

The girl summoned her courage, looking him right in the eye. ‘It’s rude to be a kidnapping psychopath, too, so I suppose we’ve both forgotten our manners.’

For a moment Erica was sure he was going to slap her; but instead, one side of his mouth curled up in a half-amused expression. ‘Quite,’ he replied simply. He circled around the back of her chair slowly, and she felt goosebumps crawl their way over her skin. ‘Come with me.’

He led her over to the computer he and his techs had been huddled around before and pulled out the chair in a mockingly genteel way. ‘If you would be so kind,’ he grinned.

Erica took the seat warily, watching as one tech sent up the picture to a bigger, projected screen and another began the grainy, black-and-white video. It looked to be a hallway of some sort; entirely ordinary, with no one in sight. ‘What are we watching?’

‘Security footage,’ Loki breathed, seemingly absorbed in the action. ‘Watch – this is where it gets _good_.’ The malice in his voice was unmissable. He leaned over her shoulder to look closely at the screen; Erica felt herself automatically leaning away. ‘Right... here.’

Suddenly, as if on cue, a burst of activity on-screen showed the corridor’s wall collapsing into a cloud of smoke, bits of brick and rubble flying everywhere. Black-masked men with machine guns at the ready marched through the desolation, an organised squadron splitting in half and charging down the two main corridors.

The camera changed angles, instead showing scurrying soldiers clearly taken unawares, holstering weapons and donning armour; but, too late. The invading soldiers shot with straight aim, mowing down their opposition with ease. Another camera change showed the same thing of the other group, and very soon the defenders were overpowered.

After another flicker and a change of scene, the picture was suddenly filled with bright white, and it took Erica a moment to realise that the room was on fire. Papers and computers alike burned in the middle of the room, and heavy smoke fogged the image.

Loki gestured. ‘Enough of that. Show her the interesting part.’

The smoke started pouring back into the fire, then the troops started retreating backwards down the corridors. The defenders shucked their armour and weaponry, and the wall repaired itself . The rewind slowed and then stopped; and finally, once again, the wall crumbled, slowly this time. The soldiers inched their way through...

‘Here, sir.’ The image was paused, then one of the faces were selected and zoomed in on.

Erica caught her breath. It was pixellated, but unmistakable. ‘Brandon.’

‘Your brother really is quite remarkable, you know,’ Loki imparted in a conversational tone. ‘For all intents and purposes, S.H.I.E.L.D. was still at _least_ three weeks from finding that facility. They were searching the wrong state still, that is how far away they were! And then, enter your brother – searching for you, of course – and BAM, he has found the wintermouse in the snowdrift. You know what I call people like that, dear Erica?’

She didn’t want to answer, but Loki was staring at her so intensely that she buckled. ‘A threat? Please, Loki...’

Loki threw back his head and laughed, a sound that made Erica want to flinch away. ‘No, no. Not a threat. _Useful._ ’

Much worse.

‘No! Please, leave my brother alone. I’ll give you anything – anything you want.’

‘Anything I want?’ Loki repeated thoughtfully.

Erica nodded fervently.

Loki tilted his head, and Erica knew then her cause was lost. ‘Have we not met, little rabbit? I am a mind-controlling, magic-wielding prince of gods; and you... Well. You are an imprisoned little girl.’ He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek in a mockery of a tender gesture. She pulled away from his reach, feeling tainted where his fingers had touched, but he yanked her back by the arm with one hand and continued to trace her jawline with the other. ‘I take what I want,’ he mused, ‘and you really have nothing of value to give me.

‘Or, were you offering yourself?’ the god continued, humour in his voice. ‘I doubt you even know what that would mean, do you?’ Erica’s heart hammered as he allowed his fingers to wander down her neck, relieved when they stopped at her collar bone and left her skin. He snaked a smile. ‘No matter; I’ll be using you anyway, regardless of whether or not I have your permission. After all, what’s the purpose of obtaining a weapon if you don’t also have the controls?’

It took a moment to figure out what the cryptic sentence meant, but when she understood Erica’s eyes grew wide. ‘You’re going to use me against my brother?’ She wanted to tell him no, he couldn’t do it; but of course he could. ‘How?’

‘Easy.’ Loki stretched out his hand, and suddenly his sceptre materialised, the blue glow taunting her. ‘You are going to deliver him a little message.’

The girl leapt out of the chair to get away, knocking it over as she did and willing her legs to get her to the door she had seen before as fast as they could.

‘Hold her,’ the deep voice ordered, and two soldiers built like rugby players grabbed her and turned her, making her struggle futile. Loki approached slowly; a man with all the time in the world. ‘It’s alright, little one,’ he told her, twirling the staff in his hands. ‘Not that I myself have felt its effects, but I am told this does not hurt at all.’

From what she had seen, Erica doubted that; but it wasn’t like she had any options to avoid it.

With a look of anticipation, Loki touched the sceptre to the centre of her chest.

Erica’s body seized up as if she had run into an electric fence. She collapsed to the floor, feeling her consciousness fade from the edges, black fuzz enveloping her slowly until everything was dark. The movements and sounds around her echoed like a canyon, echoed until she lost the sense of it. Before she finally passed out she felt the bustle around her, maybe the call for a medic, and the feeling of hands hold her head as another, much stronger spasm seemed to punch her in the stomach; and Loki’s voice, crisp and clear and not what she was expecting.

 

‘Well. That is unfortunate.'


End file.
